“There were,” said Ulenspiegel, “but when I came you told me that I was to eat and drink just as much as you. There were two poulets. Very well. I have eaten one, and you will eat the other. My pleasure is over. Yours is still to come. Are you not happier than I?”
“Yes,” said Lamme smiling, “but just you do what La Sanginne tells you, and you’ll find your work halved.”
“I will be careful to do as you say,” said Ulenspiegel.
So every time that La Sanginne told him to do anything he did but the half of it. If she asked him to go and draw two pails of water he would only bring back one; and if she told him to go and fill a pot of ale at the cask, he would pour the half of it down his throat on the way—and so on and so on.
At last La Sanginne grew tired of these goings on, and she told Lamme that either this good-for-nothing fellow must leave the house or she must leave herself.
Lamme descended on Ulenspiegel and told him:
“You’ll have to go, my son, notwithstanding that you have looked so much better in health since you have been here. Listen to that cock crowing. And it’s two o’clock of the afternoon! That means rain. I am sorry to have to put you out of doors in bad weather. But there, my son, you know that La Sanginne is the guardian angel of my life, with her lovely fricassees. If she were to leave me I might die a speedy death. I cannot risk it. Go then, my boy, and God be with you, and here are three florins and this string of saveloys to liven your journey.”
And Ulenspiegel departed, crestfallen and with many regrets for Lamme and his kitchen.